Like Fathers, Like Sons?
by ArthursThirdNipple
Summary: Your favorite dysfunctional family goes about their daily lives. Oh dear...  YAOI GUISE. As far as now, rated T EXCEPT FOR chapter 3!
1. Chapter 1

My first attempt at fanfiction! God knows how bad this is….

-EscargotandScones

-

The nimble Frenchman bounced about the messy kitchen, keeping a steady beat and creating his own musical riff using his cooking utensils. He darted about, like a honeybee, moving from appliance to appliance, tasting one thing from one pot, and another from another. He quickly whisked a few eggs in a pan over a hot stove as he hummed a gentle tune that didn't appear to represent any certain song. He continued doing so until another man summoned him from an adjoining room.

"Francis!" the Englishman called. The man called Francis paused his activities, wiped his hands on the rather frilly apron he wore, and took the eggs he had been concentrated on off heat.

"Oui, mon Angleterre?" the blonde-haired man said as he leaned in the doorway. His partner, Arthur sat on a plush and rather comfortable couch placed in front of a television. There were small plastic pieces, packing peanuts, and all sorts of other random materials scattered about the living room. The dirty blonde held a handful of colorful wires and had a look of confusion on his face. He turned his head to look up at Francis, frustration in his emerald eyes.

"I can't figure this bloody plaything out! This... toy Alfred had me get him is going to take more time for me to put together than he will actually spend playing with it!" Arthur was nearly steaming out of his ears. He fumbled with the tangled mess of multicolored cords before giving up and cradling his head in both of his hands. He heaved a heavy sigh. Francis walked behind the couch and patted him on the back compassionately. He leaned over Arthur's shoulder.

"You shouldn't be zpoiling zat child, Arthur. Let him use his imagination. He doesn't need any of ze zings you buy him," Francis whispered into the other's ear. This was all undoubtedly true. The Englishman spoiled his child rotten, and it showed in Alfred's attitude. This got him in trouble often with his parents, but punishment never lasted very long.

"I don't think he has the bloody brain capacity to be creative," Arthur chuckled as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, "Even if he did, he would be too lazy to use a lick of imagination." As if on cue, a young Alfred Jones scampered into the living room where his parents were. He maneuvered his way around the miscellaneous parts on the ground, having felt the pain of having one embedded in his foot in the past. Alfred's slightly younger brother, Matthew, followed, Kumajiro in hand and snuggling him tightly. Alfred leapt up and plopped down next to Arthur on the couch.

"DADDY! DADDY!" Arthur cringed as the little one spoke, "Can I play with my toy, yet?" Alfred grinned a toothy grin and looked up at his father with hopeful eyes.

"N-not yet," Arthur said through clenched teeth, "I-it will be done sometime soon." Alfred's presence was giving Arthur a massive migraine. As the Englishman massaged his temples, his partner felt a small tug on his apron.

"Père," said a small voice. The tall blonde looked down to find Matthew's large, violet eyes looking back.

"What is it, mon cher?" Francis patted Matthew on the head.

"I'm so hungry," the smaller whined, rubbing his stomach as it growled, "is supper almost ready?" Francis' eyes widened.

"Merde, merde, MERDE!" Francis shouted as he sprinted in panic to the kitchen. He could already smell a hint of smoke in the air. He covered his face with one arm and pushed open the swinging door. Smoke had begun to line the ceiling and Francis sputtered a cough. He pulled his apron up to cover his nose and mouth, and opened the oven. More smoke spilled out, causing the Frenchman to break into another fit of coughs. Forgetting oven mitts, Francis grabbed the tray on the middle rack. He released a whimper and his eyes widened. He tried not to scream, in fear he would suffocate. Tears welled up in his eyes as he tossed the tray onto the countertop.

Francis ran back toward the living room to find Arthur already escorting Alfred out of the house to safety. The youngest, however, was nowhere to be seen. Francis sucked in a few relieving lungfuls of air before questioning.

"Where is Matthieu?" he asked between heavy breaths.

"I thought _you _were finding him!" Arthur held the door open for Alfred to walk outside. Looking across the room at his partner, Arthur mouthed two words whilst shaking his head.

_I'm sorry._

Arthur closed the door behind him to leave Francis, alone, in the living room. When reality hit him, the blue-eyed man twisted around in panic to swing the kitchen door open once again. The smoke in the kitchen was much thicker than before, he realized. The smoldering quiche had caught some kitchen towels ablaze; the flames dimly lighting the room. However, he could still see no more than a foot in front of him. He fell to his hands and knees, releasing a squeal upon leaning on his right hand. It throbbed from the previously made burn. He took a moment to examine the burn; it was already swelling and turning an unpleasant shade of pink.

Young Matthew's coughs could be heard, faint and weak, and interrupted by the occasional, "Maple…" Francis crawled in the direction he thought the coughs were coming from, to eventually find the child, sobbing, and a mixture of tears and fallen ash staining his cheeks. Seeing him like this made Francis' heart sink, and he fought back every parental urge he had to comfort the child then and there.

Francis grabbed the smaller's hand and led him across the smooth kitchen floor. The kitchen towels had caught some nearby curtains, dangling from the window above the sink, on fire, causing the arson to spread. Upon reaching the living room, Francis scooped Matthew up and sprinted toward the front door, avoiding Arthur's mess on the floor. Smoke from the kitchen was just beginning to coat the ceiling of the space. Matthew rubbed his face into his bear, and let out a whimper, followed by a few coughs. Francis shushed him as he balanced the younger on his hip to open the door to the front yard. He laid Matthew on the grass. Francis was breathing heavily as he fell to the ground. Both Francis' and Matthew's bodies were covered with a mixture of sweat and ash.

"Francis!" Arthur clutched onto a wildly coughing Matthew, and ran over to his aid, Alfred close behind.

"P-papa? Mattie? Are you guys okay?" Alfred choked out. Both Matthew and Francis were wheezing, and Francis sunk into the grass as he tried to speak. In instants black dots obscured his vision and things began to blur together.

In a jumble of cries from his family members, everything faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

The room was bright; it was a clean, crisp and shiny white that was usually connected with death. Arthur leaned over Francis' hospital bed, examining him, searching for any signs that Francis was going to wake. Arthur was scared of raising the kids alone. He couldn't cook! The children would starve! There was also the idea of losing Francis, too. He was his best friend. More than his best friend, really, but Arthur would never admit that to anyone, especially not Francis. Amidst Arthur's panic, the Frenchman woke in a haze. The first thing he saw was the blurry silhouette of his bushy-browed partner, looming over his hospital bed. With his eyes still half closed, he smirked.

"Oh, Angleterre~ In my sleep? You naughty boy~" Arthur, who was too carried away with his own thoughts, jumped when Francis spoke. He then went red in the face and fell down to his chair next to the bed. He was relieved Francis showed some sign of life, but he wasn't pleased that that was the first thing he would say after finally coming to consciousness. The dirty blonde's eyes were heavy with lack of sleep, and felt he somewhat accomplished that he had stayed awake long enough to see Francis stir for the first time since the fire.

"Damn, if that bloody brat wasn't here right now…"Arthur said, still blushing, and eyes shifting toward the corner of the hospital room. There, Alfred dozed, curled up in a rather uncomfortable plastic chair.

"What would you do, Angleterre?" Francis leaned over planning to plant a comforting kiss on Arthur's lips, only to be stopped by the searing pain that followed leaning on his right hand. He yelped and fell back into his bed. Alfred stirred upon Francis' outburst.

"That might be difficult to cook with, Francis," Arthur said, reducing his voice to a whisper, "that amongst… other things…" The Englishman helped Francis with his predicament by standing and giving him a quick peck on the lips. Francis smiled.

"Oh, it is only but a small bump in ze road," Francis said whilst examining his burn. It had swelled more since the fire, but maintained the bright, fleshy shade of pink. He leaned on his left elbow to get himself to sit up. The blonde man looked about the room for their smallest child.

"If you're looking for Matthew, he's in a room down the hall," Arthur spoke, after there had been a period of silence between the two, "He's still asleep, though." Francis inquired if it was okay for him to get up to see his youngest, and Arthur went to ask his nurse. His partner returned with a positive, and a bag containing the taller blonde's clothes. Francis hoisted himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As he stood, Arthur chuckled from the other side of the bed.

"Nice ass, frog," Arthur said through a grin. His partner's bare bottom peeked out from behind his hospital gown.

"Thank you, Arthur~" Francis said cheerfully, nonchalantly ignoring the smaller's insult, "You're lucky I won't just leave ze room like zis." The blonde slipped on his underwear, followed by a pair of weathered jeans underneath the hospital gown. He would have much rather teased his partner by taking off the nightgown first, but even Francis could tell that a hospital room with one out of two of his children there was not place to do so. Francis peeled off the gown and slid into a comfortable, v-necked t-shirt. Not necessarily the first outfit he would choose out of his vast array of clothes, but he supposed it would do for walking down the hallway.

Arthur remained in Francis' room and read a magazine, in case Alfred was to wake, which was very unlikely. Francis walked quietly through the wide hospital hallway and found a nurse who pointed him in the direction of Matthew's room, which was about four more doors down. He turned to Matthew's door and reached for the handle.

"Fils de salope!" the Frenchman cursed under his breath. He quickly retracted his right hand in pain and used his left to reach for the door handle once more. He slowly pushed it down in an effort to get into Matthew's room making as little noise as possible. He crept in and closed the door behind him. He didn't close it all the way, though, as he was afraid that the sound of the bolts clicking might wake Matthew.

Francis tiptoed to Matthew's bedside. The room was dark, and the only illumination was given by streetlights that shined through the window. Matthew's pale face glowed amidst the shadows, and he slept soundly. Francis' heart leapt to his throat. _He is so calm_, Francis thought, _He looks like an angel_. He pushed the smaller's hair out of his face to plant a kiss on his forehead. He was surprised to feel a tug on his shirt as he pulled away. He looked down to find a newly woken Alfred; his hair tousled with sleep and rubbing his eyes.

"Papa-" Alfred said, much too loudly. Francis shushed him as he ran his fingers through the younger's hair.

"What is it, mon cher?" Francis whispered.

"Is Mattie okay?" Alfred asked, being sure to lower his voice. His statement was followed by a yawn. Francis smiled and picked up Alfred and balanced him on his hip, cupping his hand to keep his burn from rubbing against the younger. The Frenchman sighed.

"He is fine, mon petit," Francis spoke with a calm, reassuring voice, "Lets go back to bed, non?" Alfred nodded and yawned once more before Francis carried him out of the dark room and into the hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him took Alfred back to Francis' hospital room.

As the Frenchman walked down the hallway, the smaller, slowly but surely, began to nod off to the soothing rocking motion caused by Francis' steps. He opened the door to his hospital room to find Arthur, already fast asleep, on the hospital bed; his magazine resting on his chest. Francis' heart fluttered at the sight of his partner, and instinctively wanted to crawl into the bed next to him. Rather, he placed the snoozing child in his arms in the bed, and gently picked up the magazine lying on the Englishman's chest. Before leaving the room once more, he placed a quick peck on Arthur's cheek.

"Bonne nuit, mon amour," Francis said lovingly. He flipped the light in the room off and continued once more down the quiet hallway to the room where Matthew still slept. He creaked the door open and slid in, this time carefully closing the door completely behind him. The Frenchman took one more sentimental glance at the young boy that slumbered in the hospital bed, and then situated himself in one of the more comfortable of the plastic chairs in the room. He sat directly next to the window and propped his feet up on another chair. Cozy, he flicked open the magazine he had snatched from Arthur's chest and tried the best he could to read in the dim light.

The next morning, a short, bald man wearing a lab coat greeted Francis in his wake. Sensing the newfound disturbance in the room, the bald man whipped around and his glasses flickered sunlight streaming from the window into Francis' half-woken eyes. He moaned as he shut his eyes tight, and reopened them, revealing dots restricting his vision, which slowly faded.

"Good morning, Mr. Bonnefoy!" the white-clad man said all-too-cheerfully as he flipped a sheet on his clipboard. Francis rubbed his eyes and stretched. He could already feel the growing ache in his back from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position.

"Oi, same to you Monsieur…?" Francis had no idea who this man was. He was obviously a doctor, there to check on Matthew, however Francis had never seen him before.

"Please, call me Dr. Monroe, Mr. Bonnefoy," Dr. Monroe stated as he reached down the neck of Matthew's gown to listen to his heartbeat. Matthew was very much awake, already eating his breakfast. Francis nodded at the doctor and walked to the opposite side of the patient's bed.

"Good morning, mon petit," Francis said, warm and friendly, as he ran his hand through Matthew's hair. The doctor pulled his hand out of the young blonde's gown and Matthew snatched up his orange juice, taking a short sip from the straw and looking up at his paternal counterpart.

"Bonjour, Père," the smaller said quietly, setting his orange juice back down. As the doctor stepped out of the room, the father and son made small talk, they spoke about how the younger was feeling, how the breakfast was, and Matthew pointed out that, compared to Francis' cooking, the food he was eating was like eating dog food. Francis chuckled, and at that moment, his partner walked in, Alfred in hand.

Arthur's hair was still ruffled with sleep, and his eyes were droopy. However, Francis was still undoubtedly attracted to him. Francis strolled over to the other to give him a small kiss on the cheek. The dirty blonde's face flushed pink and he released Alfred, who ran over to Matthew's bedside and played with the multitude of buttons and switches that made the bed move about. The bed's occupant giggled. As Arthur opened his mouth to harass the older of the two children, Francis interrupted him.

"Leave zem be," Francis said as he rested one arm across his partner's shoulders, "Zey are doing no 'arm." More small talk ensued, they spoke of how they slept the night before, and Francis insisted the he would have had a better nights rest if he had a certain Englishman snuggling next to him, which landed him an elbow in the stomach. They spoke of where they would stay while the house was being repaired, considering the few hotels that would allow Kumajiro to stay in a room with the boys. Whilst in conversation, Dr. Monroe knocked on the door and peeked his head in.

"Mr. Bonnefoy? Mr. Kirkland? Could you-" the doctor cut himself off and cleared his throat, "ahem, could you come out into the hall for a moment?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey all, I hope you like this chapter, as I did something completely new: lemon. I would really like critique as to how well or… not so well I did. _

_Never once have I written it -nor did I ever think I would- but I did. I like it, personally._

_Also, I apologize if a Mature tag is needed for this piece, I am very unsure as to whether it was a necessity or not._

_Anyways, Enjoy!_

_-EscargotandScones_

As the door to Matthew's hospital room closed, Dr. Monroe led the couple down the hallway. Nervously, Arthur grabbed onto Francis' hand. This was unusual, as the smaller was never one to publicly display affection, despite the other's pleas. Francis did not question, though. As they walked, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but neither of the two could tell why. All they knew was that if all was right with the world, Dr. Monroe would have told them what was needed to be said in the hospital room. Something was most definitely wrong.

The doctor took a sudden turn to a plain-looking door and swung it open, to then hold it as the two men walked in. Francis reviewed the doctor's facial expressions; his eyebrows were furrowed in anxiety, and his lips were nearly bitten raw. He undoubtedly was not the cheerful self he had been when he was checking on Matthew earlier that morning. The couple, remaining hand-in-hand, took a few steps into the office. It wasn't a very important-looking office, as the desk appeared to be just a small plastic table with a desktop computer pushed off to the left side. A diploma hung on the wall, accompanied by a few photographs of Dr. Monroe and some children. Papers were scattered all over the surface of the makeshift desk, some looking more or less important. However, the doctor shoved all to the side as if they were equals and motioned for Francis and Arthur to take seats in the chairs that sat on the opposite side of the desk.

The blonde and the dirty blonde seated themselves, still gripping one another's hands tightly. Francis' palms sweated, however he maintained an outer appearance of serenity. Inwardly, the Frenchman's heart beat like a drum and his stomach somersaulted, he swallowed a reoccurring lump in his gullet. On the other side of the table, the doctor knitted his fingers together and parted them multiple times awkwardly, then cleared his throat whilst loosening his tie more.

"Ahem," Dr. Monroe began, " I can imagine me leading you two down here has put many thoughts into your head," he continued as his eyes affixed themselves on the ceiling, "To confirm anything, yes, the problem is with your son, Matthew," Arthur gripped Francis even tighter, "But, rest assured, I must tell you that the problem here is no big deal."

Arthur's grip on Francis' hand gave way slightly, but still kept hold. The taller's heart lifted a little, and he heaved a relieving sigh.

"However," the doctor picked up again, "I will say that your son's lifestyle will undergo a few minor… changes," Dr. Monroe was obviously trying to dance around the topic of Matthew's problem, and his eyes never once looked at the couple directly; they darted about at every crevice of the room, other than the space in front of him. This was slowly aggravating Arthur, whose hand was beginning to restrict blood flow to his partner's fingers again. The bald man resumed speaking, "And again, _minor _changes. He will still-" Arthur released Francis' hand and stood.

"Just tell me WHAT THE BLOODY HELL is wrong with my Matthew!" Arthur growled through clenched teeth as he slammed his hands on the table. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and the room went silent. The other two men in the room sat in bewilderment, until Francis latched his hand back onto his partner's and tugged him back down to the seat. Dr. Monroe pushed his glasses up and loosened his tie once more. Again, he cleared his throat.

"Well then," the doctor said to begin his announcement. His voice was much sterner now, and he looked directly at the blondes in front of him, "Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Bonnefoy, I guess I'll give it to you straightforward," Dr. Monroe heaved a preparing sigh, "Your son, Matthew, has quite the case of asthma."

Francis leaned back in his chair, relieved. He expected something far worse; it was still a problem, the asthma, though it was not an object on the top of the list Francis had in mind. Unlike his partner, the tension in Arthur's body did not change upon hearing the news. He remained stiff as a board and the tears that gathered in his eyes before had long since fallen. He kept mouth shut tight. No one appeared to want to speak next, so Francis spoke up.

"Is zere anyzing we can do to make zings easier for him, doctor?" the Frenchman asked, filling the silent void in the office. Dr. Monroe nodded.

"Yes, I do suggest a little physical therapy, and perhaps a few medications to begin with, those should help him progress and make things a little less painful in the future. Also, he would need to use an inhaler from now on," explained Dr. Monroe, who continued and spoke of other procedures and medications, how to use the inhaler, emergency actions in the case Matthew were to have an asthma attack in their presence, et cetera. Before they left the office, Dr. Monroe gave them a few instructional booklets, as well as a prescription for Matthew's ailments.

The door shut behind the couple as they began their return to Matthew's hospital room. Whilst reading one of the booklets Dr. Monroe had given them, Arthur's lower lip began to quiver fiercely and his face began to redden. In turn, Francis reached one arm around the other's waist and gingerly kissed Arthur on the temple. Before the smaller spoke, the taller shushed him.

"Please, try not to get worked up yet, Arthur," Francis whispered lovingly into his partner's ear before kissing his temple again, "It will concern ze children." Arthur, fighting his emotions, did so by taking a few deep breaths. His face quickly cleared and the two reached the hospital room.

In the white room, the children were occupying themselves with a comic book Arthur had bought for Alfred at the hospital gift shop. Upon their parents' arrival, they quickly gathered their things. As a group, they walked out of the hospital to pile in a rental car. Arthur climbed into the driver's seat and turned over the key. There was some presence in the air around them that communicated to everyone, something that said no one should speak, as the car was dead silent almost all the way to the hotel. Whilst driving, a sudden soft voice broke the silence.

"D-daddy?" Matthew called shyly from the back seat.

"What is it, Matthew?" Arthur looked in the rear view mirror to look at the smaller, who was looking rather uncomfortable without his usual big, white bear sitting in his lap.

"W-Where's Kumakitchi?" Matthew asked, messing up his own pet's name for the umpteenth time. Arthur directed his eyes toward the road again.

"He's staying at Uncle Antonio's for the night," Arthur answered. He would have much rather have had his son's pet stay with Gilbert, whom he was much friendlier with, but the man feared that the bear might eat his birds. So, despite past grudges, the Spaniard worked for now. Arthur continued, "We'll pick him up in the morning." Then, the conversation came to a stop, and the car fell silent once more.

The family checked into a hotel room with adjoining rooms, so the children and parents could have their privacy. Francis knew they would need it tonight.

The bolts on the hotel door clicked as Arthur slid the keycard in and out quickly. He twisted the handle and stormed into the room, heading towards the mini fridge. As the children split off into their room, Francis said good night to both of them and the dirty blonde snatched up a bottle of whiskey from the refrigerator. Arthur opened it to pour the golden liquid into an iced glass. Longingly, the Englishman took a sip to then toss the glass on the bedside table. He collapsed into the cloud of scratchy sheets and began to bawl.

"G-god damn it," Arthur said between sobs. Francis walked over from the dresser and sat on the corner of the one bed in the room. Arthur felt the mattress sink and lifted his red face from the pillow, which was already damp with tears. Arthur drabbled on, "F-fuck, it's all my d-damned fault. H-he's-" he cut himself off to reach for his whiskey on the nightstand and toss it back. It slid down his throat before he began to speak again.

"H-he's going to have to deal with this the rest of his damned life, a-and it's all my b-bloody f-fault," he bit his lip as he shut his eyes tightly to fight back the impending tears. Francis crept over to pat Arthur on the back. Arthur continued prattling unintelligibly without stop. He complained in a mumble of how if he hadn't of purchased the toy he bought for Alfred, Francis' mind would not have shifted off of dinner, the house would be in one piece, and Matthew would not have asthma. He repeated things a lot, and his stutter was no longer because he was crying. He had refilled his whiskey glass multiple times and the alcohol was definitely setting in. Arthur rambled on and on, though. 

Francis only sat quietly, trying to make out what on earth the drunken man was saying, and waited for a pause that never came. He was beginning to get antsy, and decided to shut Arthur up manually.

The Frenchman leaned over and planted a sudden, passionate kiss on the smaller's lips. They tasted like whiskey. Surprised, Arthur pushed the blonde away from his face, however he still remained on top of him and was very close.

"T-that w-wasn't n-necessary, f-frog," Arthur said, still in shock and licking his lips. Francis flipped his hair over his shoulder.

"You refused to shut your mouth, mon cher," Francis said matter-of-factly followed by a chuckle, "I was saying zat, despite what 'appened, none of zis should rest of your shoulders. It is ze past, and you can't change it." Arthur huffed an alcohol-scented puff of breath in the Frenchman's face.

"And lo it was so," the smaller said with a roll of the eyes, "the f-frog said s-something l-logical." Francis smirked.

"Don't expect zat again for a while, Angleterre," the taller said, longingly looking down into Arthur's deep emerald eyes for a few mere moments before his French instincts reached their point of intolerance. He tipped Arthur's chin skyward with one hand as his head fell to passionately kiss him once again; he didn't push away this time. The kiss was so deep that the two forgot the previous moments and became lost in the now, entangling themselves in the sheets and gripping onto each other as if it meant life or death. Francis' tongue beckoned at the border between his mouth and his partner's, and the Englishman quickly granted entrance. Francis explored the surface of the dirty blonde's mouth, tasting remnants of whiskey.

They intertwined their bodies together in a fit of heat and moans, competing to see who could have the other make the most pleasing sound. They battled for the top, although it was pointless; Francis always won anyway. Obviously being the victor, the longhaired man planted himself atop the smaller and unbuttoned Arthur's shirt, their lips not parting once. The Englishman shook the blouse off and began peeling back the faded jeans Francis wore. Simultaneously, Francis slid off his own t-shirt, which parted the two for but a moment, only for them to join again as soon as the cotton barrier was in a heap on the floor. Then it was Francis' turn. He fumbled with the button on Arthur's currently far-too-tight pants until they came undone, the Englishman pleasurably groaning upon the release of pressure.

After parting the two's lips, Francis pinned both of Arthur's hands above his own head and gingerly ran one finger down the median of his chest with his free hand. This caused the smaller to shiver and squirm; his hands clenched and scratched at the sheets above him in an attempt to hold back the moans that eventually bubbled up anyway. The Frenchman smirked as he watched.

"Nngh, y-you're such ahhhh," Arthur's eyes widened as Francis ran his finger around one of the small pink nubs on the smaller's chest, and Arthur released a quick breath of whiskey-laced hot air, "Mmmph… F-frog. You're s-such a b-bloody… t-tease."

"I try," Francis said delightfully as he craned down to tenderly suck on his partner's neck. Arthur bit his lip to hold back the chain of barbaric noises that built up in his chest. The Frenchman released his lips from the smaller to make a slight popping sound, and revealing a dark splotch where he had previously focused on. Seeing the pleased expression on Francis' face, Arthur knew a mark had been made.

"G-god damn it, w-wank-ahhhhhhh," Arthur said in aggravation, before widening his eyes and clenching the sheets again; the feel of Francis planting multiple butterfly kisses all over his chest had interrupted him. Although each individual touch felt all the more pleasing, Arthur wished that Francis would just make progress. At this rate, all ecstasy could dissolve; meaning any advancements thus far would have been useless. Francis felt the opposite. He gently carved his hands around every inch of the dirty blonde's body, making him squeal and squirm. He tried to build up enough euphoria to make collision as satisfying as possible for the other. It was remarkable, really, that when it came to this sort of thing Francis was unbelievably patient. He did his best to make sure his partner enjoyed each moment as much as, if not more than, he would.

Arthur was getting impatient, and in an effort to get things moving, he shoved one hand down Francis' boxers. Surprised, Francis howled at the Englishman's touch.

"Agghhh!" Francis bit his lower lip and drew blood. Panting, he spat out a few more words, "Testy, testy."

"J-just get a m-move on, g-git," Arthur said, getting extremely antsy. Francis followed by pinching onto the Englishman's union jack briefs and inching them downward, "Nngh," Arthur groaned as the rough fabric rubbed against Francis' object of interest. Francis grinned at the smaller's heavily blushed face as he tossed the article on the hotel floor.

"Now, Arthur," Francis began to say fore warningly as he licked his fingers and making a popping noise as each digit exited his mouth, "Remember, if anyzing 'urts too… ah, severely… just tell me… oui?" Arthur nodded, anxiously knitting his brows together and shifting his legs in preparation, "And, above all, mon amour, remember…"

_Je t'aime._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey all! Here's the newest installment~  
>Sorry my Spanish may not be very good.<em>

_Enjoy~~_

_-EscargotandScones_

The sun shined through the hotel curtains as Francis stirred in wake. His arms were wrapped around his emerald-eyed lover, whose own bare legs were tangled in the Frenchman's. His head of messy, dirty blonde hair was buried in the larger's chest and his arms embraced around Francis' middle. He breathed peacefully. Francis looked downward at the sleeping man to see his sweet slumbering face. _He's so… adorable, _Francis thought as he brushed his hand through the other's hair. Despite it's scraggly and unkempt appearance, his hair was extremely soft. He averted his eyes quickly towards the bedside table, upon which a cheap alarm clock read: 8:52 AM. It was later than his usual wake, however he felt so unbelievably comfortable lying with the Englishman as of now, he didn't want to leave.

Laying the hand he had used to brush Arthur's hair on the smaller's person, the longhaired man voluntarily shut his eyes and tried to catch the last few unnecessary winks of sleep he could get. He knew sleeping late could result in harassment from Arthur, but Francis planned on blaming his drowsiness on the Englishman's late night desires. That would definitely keep him quiet. Francis slowly nodded off to his partner's steady breathing.

After what felt like minutes later, Francis woke again. His partner was no longer snoozing in his arms, and he heard noise from the washroom indicating the Englishman was showering. His eyes fluttered open to see the glowing numbers of the alarm clock again, this time reading: 10:16 AM. Francis crawled out of the sheets and planted both of his feet on the hotel room floor. He rose and walked to the bathroom door and entered quietly, without knocking. The room was humid, the steam clinging to the mirror where Francis could see only the blurry outline of himself. The air around him resounded with the shower's occupant's boisterous humming of "God Save the Queen". Francis tiptoed to the shower curtain and gently pushed it back without Arthur's notice, as he was too busy focusing on his shampoo. Francis climbed in, still remaining deathly silent in his movements. He quickly wrapped his arms around the smaller's naked body. Shocked, Arthur jumped and almost slipped on the wet footing.

"You bloody git! You could've killed me!" The Englishman shouted as he whipped around to face Francis, who was pleasantly smiling at Arthur's cherry red face. Arthur's blush deepened, "Quit smiling, you wanker! I'm serious! I could ha-"the dirty blonde was cut off mid-sentence by Francis, in a similar situation that happened the night before. The two lip-locked, and as Francis' tongue crept to gain entry to the other, he was quickly denied. Arthur didn't have time and God only knew when the hot water would run out…

Francis, disappointed, stepped out to let Arthur finish his shower, and took a fresh set of clothes out of his bag. He slid into them in a few swift movements and turned around to find Arthur already out of the washroom and leaning against a wall. He had towels around his waist and head (he always did this, and Francis never questioned why he bothered to wrap up his short hair) and toothbrush protruding out of his mouth. The Englishman had been watching him dress. He blushed and ducked back into the washroom to spit out his toothpaste foam and take off his towels to slide into some clothes.

Arthur stepped back into the bed area with his damp hair sticking up in all directions and wearing his partner's jeans from the night before. They were too big and sagged quite a bit, and Arthur held onto them by one belt loop. Arthur, blushing awkwardly, pointed at another blue jeaned heap on the floor.

"I-I grabbed the wrong trousers," the dirty blonde said red faced, bending down and reaching for them. Francis swatted his hand away.

"Wear mine," the taller said, a smirk on his lips and a glimmer in his eyes, "You look… _magnifique._" Arthur blushed redder and stood straight. He felt ridiculous wearing his partner's pants. They were much too large in every area, barely covering his briefs in the waist and dragging on the ground in length. He had to admit, though, there was most definitely a warm-and-fuzzy-type comfort that wearing the jeans brought. Arthur did what Francis said and remained in the unfamiliar pants. He slid into a button down top that he thought long enough to cover his undergarments if they happened to peek out from beneath.

Arthur opened the door that adjoined the neighboring hotel room to theirs to find Alfred and Matthew already awake and watching cartoons. The younger was already dressed and ready for the day, whilst the older of the two remained in his sleepwear with unbrushed teeth and uncombed hair. Arthur, irritated, scolded Alfred into getting up off of his bed; to then go back into his own room to tidy up the mess he and Francis had made the night before. He picked the clothes up off of the floor and set them neatly into drawers, and thought about making the bed, but let it be because housekeeping was likely to change the linens, anyway. For the sake of his dignity, Arthur silently prayed the maid wouldn't notice the crusty sheets…

With the kids dressed and ready for the day, the family closed their hotel room door behind them. Francis and Arthur attempted at cramming the children into the elevator down the hall, however there was much quiet protest from Matthew. He was afraid they might get stuck, or worse, the elevator cord might snap. After minutes of failed persuasion, the parents gave up. Arthur walked the shaking child down the stairs whilst Francis took Alfred in the elevator; as the stairway was much too cramped to fit all four of them.

"PAPA! PAPA!" Alfred shrieked as he pushed the lobby button in the elevator repeatedly. It clicked as the boy determinedly pressed it over and over. He looked up at the blonde-haired man as he continued pushing the one button, it lighting up and dimming over and over, "PAPA, MAKE THE ASCENDING ROOM GO FASTER!" Francis scoffed.

"'Ascending Room'? Zat sounds rather… proper, non, mon petit?" Francis laughed out. The child turned back to concentrate on the button again.

"I heard this guy in a game call it that one time. I think he was just trying to sound smart, though," Alfred said, resuming to viciously attack the button. The taller laughed once more.

Francis ruffled his hair, "You realize pressing zat button won't make the elev- eh,'Ascending Room' go faster, oui?"

"I just want to beat Daddy and Mattie down!" Alfred yelled as he pushed the button even more furiously. Francis released a few more chuckles just as the elevator doors opened to reveal the lobby, with Arthur and Matthew already there. The older child let out a grunt of defeat, and the younger huffed and puffed, gasping for air. He had desperately wanted to beat his brother down, as well.

"Hah!"Matthew says between breaths, "I beat you!"

Arthur shook up Matthew's inhaler and handed it to him. The child objected with a slight whine, but did take it from the Englishman's hands to then suck in the vapors it released. Matthew held his breath for a few moments and then coughed. He glared in annoyance up at Arthur upon handing it back, however Arthur didn't take notice. The father slid the medical device back into his pocket. He was thankful Dr. Monroe had showed Matthew how to use the inhaler yesterday morning at the hospital.

The family walked out to the parking lot of the hotel, Matthew much more proudly than the older, and piled in the rental car. The Englishman buckled the children in as Francis climbed into the passenger seat. Arthur never let him drive. Arthur sat in the seat next to him and turned the key over.

The car pulled into the driveway of the small, suburban house. It was a cute little house, light beige, two levels and surrounded by small, manicured hedges. Directly in the center of the first level, where flora symmetrically split, there was a maroon door with a shiny golden knob and two steps leading up to it. On either side of the house, there was a wooden fence that divided the front yard from the back that was clearly seen from the driveway. Arthur put the car in park and turned it off. The children in the back seat wriggled in excitement as they unbuckled their seatbelts. Francis opened his car door and Arthur opened his mouth to speak.

"Now, you two, please, _behave yourselves._If either of you give Uncle Antonio _any _trouble, I swear to bloody-" Arthur turned to look at the boys, only to find that they were already gone and at the red door with the taller father. The Englishman sighed. He grabbed his bag that contained all of Matthew's emergency supplies and opened his door to follow his family.

Francis rang the doorbell to the home to be greeted moments later by an ever-so-cheerful Spaniard, who met the family with open arms. He crouched down to hug both of the children simultaneously, planting familial kisses on both of their foreheads. The boys beamed at their much-loved friend-of-the-family.

"Ahh~ How are my little chicos favoritos, eh?" the dark-haired man said as he squeezed the blondes tighter.

"Good, Uncle Antonio," Alfred answered as the Spanish man's vise-like embrace constricted the children's' air passageways further.

"Eh, Uncle Antonio! I can't breathe!" Matthew wheezed out as he wriggled to escape. The tan man released the two and they both gasped at the sudden release of pressure around their young bodies. The asthmatic breathed in a relieving lungful of air upon his respiratory system being reopened. Antonio grinned and stood to direct himself toward the tallest blonde.

"Ahh~ Francis! Hace mucho que no nos vemos, no?" the Spaniard asked as he went for a quick embrace with his long-time friend.

"Oui! It 'as been much too long, mon ami," Francis responded whilst friendly patting the other on the back. The old friends chatted for a bit, talking about football, their children, et cetera. All the while, Arthur remained invisible, shielding himself from behind Francis. He did not want to be seen, really. He wanted to spend as much time as he could avoiding conversation with the dark-haired man.

"So… eh, where's the old lady, mi amigo?" the friend questioned, slight hope in his voice and having not realized the hiding Briton. Antonio could remember that Francis' visits were never as enjoyable when bushy-browed menace was there. Arthur cleared his throat from behind his partner, as to announce himself.

"The "old lady" is right here, you damn Spaniard," Arthur cracked, mildly irritated by being called such.

"Ahh~ Arturo! So nice to see you! Why don't you come over here and give Antonio a hug, too? ~" Antonio said merrily, not apologizing for insulting the Englishman. Arthur flinched as the Spaniard stepped forward into a one sided hug. Arthur kept his hands at his sides before prying one up to push dark-haired man away.

"Agh," Arthur scoffed, "Please, Antonio, call me Arthur damn it," he continued with a roll of the eyes. Antonio nodded and turned toward the other three.

"Ah, where are my manners?" the Spaniard said, clapping his hands together as to wrap things up, "You all would like to go inside, no? I made churros! And Mattie, you probably want to see Kuma, yes?" he resumed, ruffling the small blonde's wavy hair. The child nodded.

"Y-yes Uncle Antonio," he said. Antonio returned with a smile. As they still remained outside, the Spaniard opened the front door to his house. The children scampered into the tiled entryway, and Francis grabbed onto his partner's hand to lead him in. Arthur could feel a blush creep onto his face and used every ounce of power in him to suppress it. This, however, didn't work and Antonio, of course, noticed. He gave the Englishman a warm smile. Which made Arthur release the other's hand in embarrassment. He walked into his house a few steps behind the couple and closed the maroon door behind him.

"Mi casa es tu casa," the house's owner announced, leading the family into his house, "Please, make yourselves at home. Alfred, Mattie, Lovino's upstairs in his room with Kuma. Let me get him for you," the Spaniard took a few strides to the staircase that separated the second floor from the main, "LOVINNNNOOOOOOO! THE GUESTS ARE HERE!" He shouted up the stairs. A few heavily placed stomps were heard upon his outburst, followed by the sound of a door being swung open.

"I'M COMING, GOD DAMN IT!" An angsty teenage voice boomed. A steaming brunette Italian boy appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a small white bear. He was red in the face with a strange sort of forced anger, as if his fit was only for show. The boy was of average height for his age, but still almost twice as tall as either of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy brothers. He wore the classic adolescent-style clothing, dark wash worn jeans and a t-shirt with a band's name that none of the adults had ever heard of. Directly where the Italian boy's hair parted, there was a single, pronounced hair stuck out and curled in on itself.

"Please watch your language around our guests, chico," Antonio said in a tone that was both loving and strict, but Lovino merely rolled his eyes and came downstairs,"Why don't you go play football in the back while us grownups catch up on things, eh? I'll have dinner ready later." Lovino glared at the Spaniard as he handed the bear to Matthew, whose eyes lit up upon the return. The wavy-haired boy clutched his beloved Kumajiro in reunion, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his face into the soft fur, whispering faintly about how much he had missed his pet. Lovino began walking toward the back door of the house.

"I'm always stuck babysitting, damn it,"the teen mumbled under his breath, but just loud enough for the Spaniard to hear. Antonio simply pretended not to. However, Arthur did happen to hear the boy's remark and now was both worried and tense about how his attitude would affect the children. The last thing he wanted was a child like Alfred building up that sort of way of thinking.

Antonio escorted the adults to his living room, which was directly next to the kitchen that smelled of an overpowering aroma of cinnamon. The Spaniard offered them both a seat on a worn leather couch, which they accepted and sat directly next to each other on. Antonio planted himself across from them in a loveseat of the same material and design as the other piece of furniture, only to stand back up immediately.

"Eh! My manners, my manners! Would you two like something to drink? Water? Tea? Or maybe something to eat?" Antonio said hurriedly, rushing towards his kitchen.

"I would love a cup of tea, if you don't mind, Antonio," Arthur requested politely. The dark haired man set a kettle on his stove, following the command. The Frenchman spoke up.

"Ah, if you have any wi-" his statement was quickly interrupted by Arthur's elbow, which had landed a spot in Francis'side.

"No. Wine." The Briton whispered angrily, "Francis will have a water, if that's not too much of a problem, Antonio," he requested again.

Antonio, not hearing Francis' small blurb of conversation, stopped moving for a moment when he heard the Englishman's adjuration. Firstly, he wondered why Arthur was speaking for the taller blonde, and secondly, he wanted to know why the Frenchman had chosen water over one of the Spanish wines he knew Antonio always had in the house. He shrugged it off and retrieved a glass of water from the tap on his refrigerator. He carried it back to the room where the couple was and set it on the coffee table in front of them. Arthur looked at the glass, then around at the other end table next to them, then back to the glass; he was obviously looking for something.

"Ah, do you not have any coasters?" the Englishman asked frantically. Condensing cups lacking coasters were one of his many personal ticks, one that created a load of drama around the household occasionally. The Spaniard looked puzzled at the Briton, as if never hearing the word "coaster" before.

"Ahh… si, Arthur. No es un problema!"Antonio said, waving off the minor problem as the heated kettle began to whistle. The tan man walked back into the kitchen to prepare the dirty blonde's beverage. The dirty blonde himself, on the other hand, was intensely focused on the glass of water, each falling drip like a downpour as it slid down the glass. Arthur rummaged through his bag and pants (which still were not of his ownership) pockets. Successfully, from one pocket he retrieved a handkerchief and folded it twice to place it beneath the glass as a makeshift coaster. Francis watched all of his partner's antics, smiling warmly and then chuckling softly when the smaller sighed in relief and leaned into his arm. Antonio walked in from the kitchen, carrying Arthur's tea upon a plate in one hand a red tomato from his kitchen counter in the other. The Frenchman quickly retracted his arm from around the Briton upon his appearance and Arthur reddened in the face. The Spaniard scoffed as he rested tea on the table next to the untouched water.

"You two are like teenagers," he said, securing his seat once again on the loveseat. He took a bite out of the tomato that remained in his hand and lackadaisically leaned back into the couch cushions, getting comfortable. He wiped the drip of tomato juice off of his face before speaking again.

"So,"the Spaniard began,

"_What's new_


End file.
